Possibilities: A Contemporary Retelling of Persuasion

by Debra White Smith

  “Why don’t you go with us, Aunt Landon?” she finally said.

  “I can’t think of a better idea!” Brent seconded and lifted his tea glass. “A toast to the most beautiful ladies in town. And I’m the lucky guy who gets to take them out.”

  “Oh you!” Landon said as her color rose. “How can we refuse?”

  Allie looked at herself in the dresser mirror and decided she’d done enough to prepare for the lunch date with Brent. Her hair was less than perfect, she’d barely slapped on her makeup, but she reapplied that body lotion. Fleetingly she hoped there were no bees between here and the restaurant. She stepped away from the mirror, considered changing into something dressier, but decided to remain in the casual lounging pants and cotton top. No sense in making Brent think she was dressing up for him. Allie had already given that impression once and reaped a kiss as the result.

  Memories of her last encounter with Brent evoked Allie’s dumbfounded stare. She slumped onto the nearby settee, gazed at the ceiling fan, and hoped Brent didn’t mention what happened with Frederick in front of Aunt Landon. She hadn’t brought up Frederick since she arrived at her aunt’s home. As far as Allie suspected, Aunt Landon didn’t know how close her niece had come to a full-blown reunion with her old flame. Allie didn’t want to live through an interrogation over it. The less her aunt knew, the better.

  Allie hurried from the plush suite and scurried toward the living room. Halfway down the hall, she realized she’d left her purse on the end of the bed. She turned to get it but decided to wait. More than anything else, she needed to chat with Brent before Landon entered the living room. Her aunt had gone into her suite to freshen up just as Allie had, and Allie was banking on Landon’s taking her usual sweet time to get ready.

  When Allie stepped into the living room, Brent was sitting on the sofa with Landon’s cat in his lap. This room, like the others, looked like a photo out of Better Homes and Gardens. Already Allie was missing the more rustic appeal of the guesthouse.

  Brent smiled at Allie and said, “She’s taken to me. What’s her name again?”

  “Tiffany,” Allie replied.

  “Ah, like the jewelers,” Brent observed. “And it looks like she’s got her own piece here.” He lifted the collar with his index finger.

  “I guess,” Allie said. “Actually, I think those are just cubic zirconiums,” she added.

  Brent dropped the collar. “Oh,” he said.

  Allie hurried forward and sat near Brent. In her haste to speak with him, she landed on the couch with too much momentum and nearly toppled into his lap.

  “Hey, now this is a great change of pace,” he crooned and reached for her hand.

  The cat moved to Allie’s lap, and she avoided Brent by picking up Tiffany. “Sorry to crowd you,” Allie scooted away, “but I just wanted to ask you to not say anything about Frederick Wently in front of my aunt.”

  Brent offered nothing but a blank stare.

  “I’m talking about what happened last week after you and I went to dinner.”

  “Oh, that!” Brent said. “Actually, I’ve been so determined to forget that jerk I didn’t even register who he was at first. I was hoping you’d feel the same,” he added and snatched her hand from Tiffany’s fur. Before Allie could stop him, Brent kissed the backs of her fingers.

  “No way would I bring him up. I want your thoughts to be all for me.” His breath fanned her skin.

  “Good,” Allie breathed and pulled her fingers away to stroke Tiffany again.

  “Glad you feel that way, too,” Brent said and inched so close she smelled his minty breath.

  “Oh!” Allie stood and took the cat with her. “I didn’t mean it that way. I mean I’m just glad you’re not going to bring Frederick up. That’s all.”

  Brent bathed her in pouty appraisal that suggested the mourning widower was gone. He was back to his I-want-to-be-a-pampered-sheik mode. “And here I thought you were getting all warm and fuzzy after I saved you from that awful bee.” He stood next to her and wrapped his arm around her waist. “Don’t I at least get one little kiss for going to battle for you?” He moved in, and Allie placed her hand on his chest.

  “Not right now,” she said while Tiffany squirmed for release.

  “Oops!” Landon’s exclamation from the doorway hinted at all kinds of assumptions. “Should I go back to my room for a while?” she teased.

  “No,” Allie said and hurried to the other side of the room. She placed Tiffany in her favorite spot, right in the middle of the leather love seat, and observed her aunt. As she suspected, Landon’s blue eyes offered the approval she’d never extended to Frederick. But then, Frederick didn’t have the money Brent so obviously possessed.

  “I need to go get my purse,” Allie announced as she hurried up the hallway.

  By the time she picked up her bag from the end of the brass bed, Allie relived last week’s revelation. During the conversation with Macy, she had realized she’d never been her own woman. And as long as I stay here, I don’t stand a chance, she thought. Allie already suspected the next few weeks would be marked by Brent on her trail with Landon cheering him on. Allie had never wanted her own place more than now.

  Thirty

  By the time April merged to May, Frederick could almost fly the route from Charlotte to Macon if he were in a coma. Since Frederick’s list of clients hadn’t repented of the need to fly here, there, and everywhere, he’d been required to develop a routine. So Frederick had blocked out two days a week for Louise. Traveling schedules varied from week to week, so each week was different. However, he remained faithful to his promise to be there for Louise, despite feeling like he was trapped in a room that grew smaller every day.

  This week’s routine was no different; neither were the feelings of entrapment.

  He strode to the front door of the Grove mansion, the usual roses in one hand, the mystery novel in the other. Louise said his reading voice reminded her of low-rumbling thunder on a lazy summer evening. Frederick wondered where Louise came up with some of her flattery. Her drama queen tendencies, although dampened, had yet to be conquered. Frederick suspected only death or senility would put an end to those inclinations.

  And I’ve got a lifetime of it to look forward to, he thought and wondered how his strength had been such a contributor to his weakness. While far from perfect, Frederick had spent his life trying to do the most honorable thing. With the Louise scenario, the most honorable thing had seemed right at the time, but now it felt so wrong. However, Frederick could see no way out of the situation without breaking Louise’s heart and devastating the Groves. They’d all come to depend upon him, his loyalty, and his honor.

  Frederick rang the doorbell and wiped at the sweat dotting his cheekbones. The temperature reached 90 degrees today, and the Georgia humidity did little to minimize the heat. While he waited, he idly glanced around the landscaped yard. His gaze eventually roamed to the Dodge truck parked near the six-car garage. Because he didn’t want to block the driveway, Frederick had pulled his rental car along the drive that led to Macy and Charlie’s house. He’d parked in the grass beside the lane, so he hadn’t noticed the truck until now.

  The vehicle looked exactly like Jim Bennington’s. The man was a fool for pickups and, until Felicity died, he usually bought a new truck every couple of years in order to get all the latest in gadgets and accessories. This Dodge Ram was a deep burgundy that nearly looked black. Frederick wondered if perhaps Mr. Grove had bought Jim’s truck or one like it.

  Maybe it belongs to Craig Hayden, Frederick mused. He and Helena certainly were getting cozier the last few weeks. The one good thing that had come out of Frederick’s engagement with Louise was Helena’s reaction. She’d stopped vying for his attention and was apparently realizing what a good catch Craig was, whether he was a pro basketball star or a high school coach. Martha was forever saying they were out together and what a fine Christian man Craig was. While Frederick didn’t think marriage at the age of nineteen
was appropriate for most young ladies, he was beginning to think Helena might be the exception. Hopefully Craig’s level-headed tendencies and his ring on her finger would protect Helena from herself.

  Frederick lifted his hand to press the doorbell again when the door opened. The new maid, a short German lady who guarded the premises like a Doberman pinscher, eyed Frederick without greeting or smile.

  Having learned her routine early, Frederick stepped inside and simply said, “I’m here for Louise.”

  “Vou are not supposed to be here dis day,” the maid said.

  “Yes. This is my day.” Frederick nodded and didn’t give any sign of retreat. He’d learned to stand his ground with this woman, and do it with resolve. “I left a voicemail for Louise saying I’d be here a day early this veek,” he said and threw in a wry smile.

  The maid narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. She didn’t appreciate Frederick’s humor today or any day of the week. With her iron-gray hair pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck, the woman reminded him of a prison warden. The faint, dark mustache rounded off the effect, and Frederick expected her to pull out a club any day. If he hadn’t been nine inches taller than she, he might have been tempted to fear her. What she lacked in physical size, she made up for in strength of will. In order to keep her from thinking she could boss him around, Frederick had learned to occasionally give her a little grief—just to keep their understanding clear.

  The maid had detested Frederick from the day she arrived because he’d made the fatal mistake of laughing out loud at her name—Buffy. Even now Frederick was hard pressed not to cackle at the very thought. Naming this woman Buffy was like calling a mad grizzly bear Tootsie.

  “Dis is not vour day,” Buffy insisted, her voice rising. She placed her hands on her hips and hunched forward like a linebacker preparing to make a clean sweep.

  Mrs. Grove appeared in the hallway, balancing a silver tea tray laden with all sorts of goodies. “Oh, Buffy, there you are! I was wondering what was taking you so long.” Mrs. Grove waddled forward, her muumuu swaying. Then she spotted Frederick.

  “Frederick!” she exclaimed. “Is this your day to be here?”

  “Yes.” Frederick nodded. “I left a voicemail for Louise. I had some scheduling problems I couldn’t get around.” He dropped the novel and wrapped roses on the foyer table and hurried forward to relieve Mrs. Grove of her burden.

  “Thank you, thank you,” she said with smiling lips as red as her dress. “You’re such a wonderful gentleman.”

  Buffy shut the front door and picked up the flowers and novel. “I tell him dis is not his day, but he von’t listen.” She glared at Frederick, and he blasted her with his most charming grin.

  “Oh, it doesn’t matter!” Mrs. Grove waved her pudgy fingers. “It’s just that this is Louise’s physical therapy day. They are just finishing up,” she explained, “and I promised them some snacks. Buffy’s just worried we’ll tire Louise.” Mrs. Grove hustled toward the game room that had been adapted into a suite for Louise since her bedroom was upstairs.

  Knowing the path well, Frederick followed and eyed the sugar cookies and halved strawberries. The fast food burrito he’d downed at lunch was wearing thin. His stomach growled. When he stepped into the sunroom, he fully expected Louise to be swathed in covers, holding a TV remote in one hand, a Sprite in the other, and ruling the roost as always. Instead she was standing beside her bed, reaching toward Jim Bennington with no walker for support.

  “Come on, Louise!” Jim encouraged.

  “Oh my goodness!” Mrs. Grove shrieked. “What are you doing? She can’t! She mustn’t! Not without a—”

  Louise lunged at Jim. She screamed as he caught her, and the two slammed into the wall. Jim, supporting Louise’s fall, hit the floor with a plop and held her tight all the way down. Frederick dropped the tea tray on the bed’s end and rushed toward the two, only to discover she and Jim both were laughing.

  “I did it!” Louise bellowed. “I did it! I took a step!”

  “I told her she could!” Jim crowed. Still cradling Louise, he beamed up at Frederick and Mrs. Grove.

  “Are you crazy?” Frederick demanded. “You’re a doctor, man! Don’t you understand she could be hurt!”

  Like a small child, Louise reached for Frederick. He bent and slipped one arm under her knees and the other supported her shoulders.

  “So what hurts her worse?” Jim asked as he stood. “Taking a risk on her first step, or safely staying in bed the rest of her life?”

  “I did it!” Louise rested her arms around Frederick’s neck.

  Frederick noted her exultant face and the smell of baby powder. Louise gazed up at Frederick with all the adoration of a girl in her first crush. Her green satin house robe accented her peaches-and-cream complexion and made her golden hair look like honey. Try as he might, Frederick couldn’t generate any feelings for her other than that of a fond elder brother exasperated with a daredevil kid sister.

  “You did it, all right,” he scolded and hoped she couldn’t read his mind. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

  “That makes two of us!” Mrs. Grove fussed and pulled back the hospital bed’s covers.

  Frederick laid Louise on the elevated bed and glanced toward the end where he’d dumped the tea tray. Buffy-the-mustache-maiden was picking up the damp mess.

  “I vill redo dis,” she declared and glared at Frederick.

  He winked.

  Her spine stiff, Buffy marched out of the room holding the tray like she was the martyr of teatime.

  “Now,” Frederick said as Martha covered Louise, “you’ll probably need a nap after all that.”

  “I was thinking of maybe some tango lessons,” Jim quipped and settled on the end of the bed.

  “Where did you come from, anyway?” Frederick demanded and directed a mock glare toward his friend.

  “I’ve been around awhile,” he claimed and smiled at Louise. “Are you going to defend me here or let your fiancé kick me out?”

  “He’s been coming with the physical therapist,” Louise explained through a yawn.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Grove confirmed. “He dropped by to visit one day when the therapist was here and has been back once a week since.”

  “See!” Jim waved toward the Grove matron. “My honor has been defended.”

  Louise giggled.

  “So where is this physical therapist?” Frederick looked around the spacious room.

  “Oh, she left a while ago,” Jim explained and stood. “I was just hanging out seeing if—”

  “If you could get Louise to kill herself?” Frederick asked and delivered a playful shove at his friend.

  “Something like that.” Jim smiled and returned the favor with a punch of his own. “Don’t you remember I was the one who was there for your first step?”

  “Yep, I remember!” Frederick barked. “You pushed me out in the middle of the room and I had to walk or flop.”

  “Now, now, let’s don’t exaggerate.” Jim wrinkled his nose at Louise. “You need to watch this guy when you get married. He likes to lie.”

  “Will you two stop it?” Mrs. Grove admonished and bustled around the room like a mama hummingbird.

  Louise languidly smiled and snared Frederick’s hand in hers. He rubbed his finger along her fingers, void of an engagement ring. Amazingly Louise had yet to press for a jeweled sign of their verbal agreement, and Frederick couldn’t bring himself to purchase a ring. He attributed her not mentioning a ring to her distraction with the paralysis and wondered how long she would go before pressuring him into buying a diamond.

  “I am sleepy,” Louise mumbled, her eyes heavy. “I missed my nap today.”

  “Well, okay then.” Jim held up his hands. “I know when I’m not wanted.”

  “No . . .” Louise begged and reached for him. “You stay and have dinner with Frederick and me. Maybe I can take another step even.”

  Jim took her hand and kissed it. “It will be my honor, fai
r maiden,” he said.

  Louise giggled again.

  “Such a flirt!” Martha rolled her eyes at Frederick.

  And all Frederick could think was, Since when did Jim-the-depressed-one turn into a flirt?

  “Now shoo! Shoo!” Martha said and waved the men toward the door. “Out with the both of you now. She needs sleep! We’ll have our tea in the front room.”

  “I’d prefer a Coke, actually,” Frederick asserted.

  “Me too,” Jim added. “I haven’t had my overdose of artificial color and sugar today.”

  Frederick narrowed his eyes at his health-nut friend. “Are you mocking me?” he challenged.

  “Only if you want me to,” Jim replied and never blinked.

  “We’re out of Coke,” Martha whispered from behind. “All we have is Sprite right now.”

  “I have a couple in my car,” Frederick said and was thankful he’d bought a stash along with a tiny Styrofoam cooler when he gassed up the rental car. “I’d rather drink muddy water than Sprite,” he absently complained and watched Jim walk toward the hallway. The guy was dressed in some of his prefuneral clothes—a pair of wrinkle-free Dockers and a starched shirt, to be exact. Frederick looked down at his own clothing, the standard jeans, boots, and T-shirt. At least this time the T-shirt was new.

  Then Frederick cast another glance at Louise, who was already dozing. He scratched his head, looked back at Jim, and wondered when the guy had gone and gotten so cheerful. Frederick had been so busy he hadn’t seen Jim in more than six weeks. And those weeks had certainly brought a change.

  He meandered down the hallway as Martha closed the game room door. When he passed the living room, he eyed Jim again. The doctor was standing at the window swaying to some unheard melody.

  “Martha says they’re out of Cokes. I’ve got a couple in my car,” he said. “Do you really want one?”

  “Yeah, I heard her,” Jim answered. “And no thanks on the offer.” He shook his head. “You know I don’t drink that stuff. I was just giving you grief.”